


The Lost Stories: Qamdo

by Leviafan



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviafan/pseuds/Leviafan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which MJN is the lucky airdot chosen to fly Sherlock Holmes to Tibet. The consulting detective's uncanny resemblance to the captain is apparently only coincidence... but it does give Martin quite a shock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Stories: Qamdo

When her phone rang, Molly looked at it with some surprise. It took her a few seconds to sort out what to do about it because Toby was curled up in her lap, but she dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor when she recognized the ringtone. Slightly out of breath from rushing to the phone, she clutched it to her ear and said, “Hello?”

“Are you sure about this?” said Sherlock’s voice on the other end.

“I think so… why, what’s wrong?”

“I can see at least twelve things at first glance, and I’m sure I’ll find seventeen more once I’m on board.”

“You did say you wanted something low key.”

“Low key, not low flying,” he answered with some acerbity. “I am planning to go to the Himalayas and would rather not crash into them.”

“They’re perfectly safe,” she said defensively. “I did look into it.”

Sherlock sighed and rang off, pocketing his phone as he contemplated the plane that would, with any luck, be carrying him to Tibet. It had certainly seen better days, or at least he assumed it had. If it had come off the factory line looking half so slapdash and had actually been approved, he would have to start wondering about the efficacy of the airline safety regulations.

Still, Molly was right. This one-plane outfit would be perfect for his needs.

As long as it didn’t inadvertently complete Moriarty’s game after all.  


* * *

  
“Mum—”

“What does it matter?” she interrupted. “He paid cash, Arthur, and quite a lot of it, so if he wants to put his name down as Genghis Khan, he’s welcome to.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. “Don’t you have somewhere to be or, I don’t know, something useful to be doing?”

Arthur deflated visibly. “Yeah, okay.” But as he made his way to the galley, he still couldn’t help being curious. Maybe their mysterious passenger was a film star! They seemed to like giving funny names, but the only one they’d flown before had used cartoon characters, not fictional detectives. But then maybe that was because there weren’t as many lady detectives, he mused, so she would’t’ve had enough choices. This chap, though— Arthur could barely contain his excitement. Even if he wasn’t really called Sam Spade, it was still pretty brilliant. Or— well, it did sound like a name somebody might have. What if he really was called that? Arthur couldn’t wait to ask him.

In the meantime though, the pilots (especially Martin) needed their coffee. He made exactly two cups, and as he took it up to the flight deck, he nearly ran into their passenger. Arthur (Arthur) was struck dumb by the sight, but he half-ran the rest of the way, coffee spilling everywhere (though miraculously missing any electrical equipment). “Guys! Guys!” he shouted, skidding to a stop. The two pilots turned round in their seats.

“Thanks, Arthur… but what’s got into you?” Martin asked.

“Skip! You never told us you had a twin brother! Why didn’t you tell us you had a twin? That’s brilliant!”

Into Martin’s dumbfounded silence, Douglas said, recoiling in mock horror, “You mean there are two of you? Perish the thought.”

“Shut up, Douglas. Arthur… I don’t have a twin.”

“Arthur, maybe you should just—” Douglas attempted to inject a calming note, but that was like trying to stop a hurricane with a toothpick.

“But he’s out there!” Arthur said, pointing back the way he’d come. “With a face like yours and everything, only he’s got dark hair. Oooh, d’you reckon he’s going in cog— inc— in disguise?”

Martin, meanwhile, was frowning. He and Simon did look similar, but what would his brother be doing here? That level of coincidence was too high to stand up to scrutiny, but it could technically happen, since his siblings didn’t even know about this second job… hobby… thing.

“Hold down the fort, would you,” he muttered to Douglas who grinned and answered, “Of course, Your Majesty.” Martin just walked out in a huff. Now wasn’t the time for jokes, not that that ever stopped the first officer.

Their sole passenger was sitting by the window, his head buried in a book, but at Martin’s approach he looked up.

“Ah, Captain…”

His only response was a pair of slender raised eyebrows as he watched the unconscious body of Martin Crieff crumpling to the floor.  


* * *

  
“Martin. Martin. Wake up this instant or I’ll promote Douglas to captain.”

Gradually he became aware that Carolyn was slapping his face, and rather wished he could have stayed unconscious. Weakly he put up his hands in defense. “Ow! Carolyn, that hurts!”

“Yes, Martin, that’s the idea,” she said, but she did stop slapping him. “Come on, chin up, ducky, you’ve got a plane to fly.”

Martin sat up groggily and saw he was in the flight deck. He didn’t remember… oh God. God. Had he really— “Ducky?” he asked with an incredulous frown. “Ducky? Carolyn, I’ll have you know that I am—”

“Don’t say it, Martin, we’re all well aware what you are,” she said curtly, patting his leg— he was sprawled unceremoniously against the captain’s seat, his legs spread out in a ‘v.’ “Now do you suppose you could do us a teensy little favor and prove it?”

Martin nodded, not completely trusting himself to speak more than a few words yet as his memory flooded back. He got up from the floor, still feeling a little shaky, and straightened his uniform. Instinctively he looked round for Douglas; surely he wouldn’t have missed an opportunity to watch? And if nothing else, he would have had to help carry Martin to the flight deck. He might be the shorter man, but only by a little.

The ever-perceptive Carolyn saw this and answered his unspoken question. “He’s just making the final arrangements with Mr Spade,” she said with only a tinge of mockery lingering on the name. “Don’t worry, he’ll soon be back by your side and I’m sure he won’t let you live this down.” Smirking, she patted his shoulder and left him to put his composure back together as best he could.

He settled himself in the captain’s seat and scanned the panel of instruments before him, but without really seeing them. Instead he kept thinking about the man in the cabin behind him who looked uncannily familiar. Not that it mattered, not really. It didn’t have to affect his ability to do his job, as long as he didn’t let it. But how could he help being curious? A mysterious passenger turns up— he had even given them a false name— and just happens to look a lot like a certain hapless captain. What could it all mean?

Arthur meanwhile was not troubling himself with the possible matrices of this new development because he was convinced he knew what it meant, and he was not so subtly trying to find out if he was right.

“Good morning to you, Mr Spade sir,” he said, waiting awkwardly for a response. After over a minute he tried again with a quavery, “Good morning?”

Finally the passenger took his nose out of his book and stared sharply at Arthur. “Yes, what do you want?”

“Is your name really Sam Spade, like the detective? Because that’s really an amazing coincidence!” The man’s gaze hardened, and he let out a snort. Arthur quailed slightly, but steeled himself and plunged on. “Skip never told us he had a twin—” then he realized that even if he was a relative, he was also a passenger, so he backpedaled— “I mean the captain, Captain Crieff. But he doesn’t talk much about himself at all, so maybe it’s not a surprise— unless maybe it’s just me he hasn’t been talking to, and I can see that too. I mean, I can’t keep a secret, so if it’s something really bad—”

“Shut up,” the passenger interjected, cold but calm, and returned to his book, leaving Arthur standing uncertainly in the aisle, wringing his hands.

“Sorry, what?” he asked his voice almost a whisper.

Without looking up, the passenger said, “If your little idiotic display is anything to go by, I’d imagine you’re no stranger to the words ‘shut up.’ So kindly do it and go away.”

Arthur wasn’t one to give up easily, but an idea had suddenly popped into his head, one that made it all make sense, so he just grinned at the cover of the passenger’s book and rushed back to the flight deck, where Martin and Douglas were preparing for takeoff. Douglas’ silver head was the first to turn, offering a quizzical eyebrow.

“I think I’ve got it, Skip!” Arthur paused dramatically, then burst out, “he’s your evil twin!”

Martin just sat with his mouth slightly ajar; Douglas was more prepared, as always. “So if he’s your complete opposite, does that mean he’s a proper pilot?”

“I didn’t ask him that!” Arthur said, eyes widening, already turning to go back.

“Wait,” Douglas said, “before you go careening off and making a bigger fool of yourself than usual— though I would have thought that was impossible— what exactly do you mean, ‘evil’? Did he spit in your cheesecake?”

“I didn't see him do it, but he might have done… oh. Ooooh. Right. We’re not having cheesecake today.”

“Well-spotted, Arthur,” Douglas said, almost sounding sincere.

“No, no, he just… well. You know how everyone’s brilliant, but—”

“This Mr Spade somehow manages to be both brilliant and not brilliant at the same time, does he?”

“Yeah, well, he’s not very nice.”

Douglas’ eyes flicked towards Martin and the look on the captain’s face did not bode well for Mr Spade. Or more likely, with the captain’s luck, Martin himself. He could understand the sentiment though. “I’ll deal with him.”

Martin blinked. “Don’t you— I don’t know, don’t you want to stay and make sure I don’t crash the plane into a mountain?”

Douglas just smirked as he got up. “Yes, but just at this moment we’re flying over the Channel. I think even you can manage not to run into any mountains.”


End file.
